


like flowers, our feelings blossom

by moonsuhs



Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Confessions, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Slice of Life, Time Skips, chan is a mess and i love him, less dialogue more chaos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-17
Updated: 2020-12-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:47:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27546328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/moonsuhs/pseuds/moonsuhs
Summary: Chan comes up with the perfect plan to reveal his growing crush on his neighbor with the pretty garden and even prettier smile.
Relationships: Heo Chan/Kang Seungsik
Comments: 17
Kudos: 35
Collections: VICFEST®—round two!





	like flowers, our feelings blossom

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt #272** : Chan steals flowers from Seungsik's garden every day until one day he catches him in the act.
> 
> i discovered only _after_ writing half of this that this prompt commonly goes in another direction, but i saw it and went COMPLETELY off the rails so just... have this. no sad grieving angst here, my friends, only fluff and gay panic :3
> 
> thank you to j for always being so motivating and helping me finish this<33 and to our lovely mods!! thank you for all your hard work you're the best ily

The sun is warm on Chan’s back as he walks along the sidewalk, his black top soaking it in. He wears his jacket around his waist because it was colder when he’d left for work in the morning, but he doesn’t need it now.

Spring has finally arrived and he can see it in the greenery as he walks slowly, observing the budding trees in the patches of grass that separate the sidewalk from the road. The cars are few and far between, and he enjoys his quiet afternoon stroll.

He’s almost home now, turning down his street and finding it empty and silent as well. Perfect.

 _Today is the day_ , he decides.

Two doors before his own, his feet slow to a stop. He walks this path twice daily, but it always looks different. The fence, its white pickets swallowed by bushes and every color of blooming flower he could imagine, was always prettiest this time of year. Their gardener put a lot of effort into it, Chan knows, because he’s passed by sometimes while he was hard at work.

He’s never said much, because _nobody_ should interrupt a man gardening, but he waves and compliments his pretty flowers and tries not to stare for too long. At the perfectly trimmed bushes and plants that looked straight out of a landscaping magazine, or the way he always smiles back brightly at the praise.

It’s happened a few times. Probably not enough to explain the gigantic crush Chan has developed, but a good few.

Today, the flowers look so vibrant that, if he didn’t know better, he’d think they were fake. His eyes catch on a bunch towards the end of the fence, bright yellow and looking like they were about to _noot noot_. Today, his plan begins.

He turns his head as subtly as he can, peering over his shoulder to find it empty. He glances across the street, surveying his surroundings, before finally turning the other way to peek at the big window that looks directly into the gardener’s living room. The lights are off, and nothing moves.

Chan takes a deep breath, his heart rate picking up as he imagines the possible outcomes of the crime he’s about to commit. The neighborhood watch could jump out from behind a trash can, or a police car could conveniently turn down the road just as he’s fleeing the scene.

He swallows dryly, glancing around again. He’s wasted too much time, any longer and he might start to appear suspicious. He takes one last look at the window, one over his shoulder, and then starts walking again.

As he’s nearing the end of the fence, he lets his right hand hang idly as his side, fingers wiggling as he approaches his target. As soon as it’s within reach, he strikes.

In one swift movement, he bends down and swings his arm out to grab the stem of one of the yellow flowers with his entire fist. He cracks it like a celery stick, leaving a wimpy 2 inches of it poking straight out of the ground to mark its grave. Surprised by how easily it came off, he gawks at the amputated body in his hand as he stands up straight again.

A rustle in the tree next to him pulls him back to the crime scene, and the speed at which he snaps his head around almost knocks him off balance. A bird hops along a branch, watching him curiously, and Chan wonders for a moment if it could be a new model of security camera. He hides his hand behind him, frozen still as he stares back at it. The contest is fierce, and Chan’s heart pounds in his chest as he prepares himself for the getaway. When the bird makes the first move, cocking its head slightly to the side, Chan launches down the sidewalk, hair flapping in the wind as his feet pound against the pavement all the way to safety (his house two doors down).

_Step one: success._

\------------------------

The next day, Chan walks home around the same time. He follows the same path, at the same speed, right up to the same white fence. This time, though, he knows the routine, and he’s confident.

He strides up with his chin high, daring anyone to jump out and handcuff him. There’s no security bird (he checks) and the living room window is dark and empty.

He takes his time picking his next victim, looking over the different colors and shapes that stick out through the pickets. The dirt is a little darker even though it hadn’t rained the night before, and Chan knows their caretaker watered them at some point that day. He decides on a bright pink one, its petals tightly wrapped and just starting to open at the top.

He only does one quick glance both ways before he kneels and snaps the stem right at the base, leaving little trace behind. He immediately flees, speed walking down the sidewalk and holding the flower close to his chest.

His plan is coming along easier than he expected. Only a few more days and it will be complete.

_Step two: success._

\---------------------------

The third day, Chan walks up like it’s his own front yard he’s stealing from. He strolls along, the sky is clear and the sun is warm, and the front window is blissfully empty of any kind-eyed gardeners with nice smiles and glowing skin.

The last two flowers were simple and easy, and this time, Chan is feeling up to a challenge. He eyes the single flower he actually knows the name of: the roses. They grow on a bush that’s nearly the size of him, and he walks up to it warily. There are a lot of choices, but he isn’t very picky, and reaches his hand in to snap off the first one he sees in full bloom.

He forgets that rose stems have thorns. He yanks his hand back with a yelp, immediately sticking the injured finger into his mouth without thought. He stands there, staring at the vicious plant as he reassesses the challenge.

With careful hands, he pries some of the flower buds apart, showing more of the stems. They’re covered in thorns, and Chan winces a little at the sight of them. The thorns become less and less as the stems near the ground, and he attempts to reach his hand in, but the flowers snap back into place and his arm is swallowed into the beast.

He pulls it back again, tiny scratches stretching up his forearm this time as he cradles it into his chest with a harsh frown directed at the bush. He glances around again to make sure nobody is watching him and doesn’t find anybody, but his panic is growing slowly.

He needs to get the flower and go, but he didn’t anticipate it to be so difficult. He checks his arm for serious injuries and finds that, even though they felt like gashes from a bear’s claws, none of them had actually drawn blood. He takes his jacket from around his waist and shrugs it on for arm protection, even though it was too warm for it. The material was thin, but it was better than nothing, and he pries the stems apart to reach in again.

Trying to keep the opening wide enough that he could see in, he firmly grasps a part of the stem deep within that’s free of thorns. The hard part was done, and now he just needs to break it off.

He tugs once. The bush shakes, but nothing comes loose. He tugs again, a little harder this time, but still nothing. He starts to panic more, glancing around with his arm elbow deep in a strangers rose bush.

Adrenaline courses through his veins as he tugs a fourth time, snapping his wrist with as much strength as he can muster. The branch snaps with a loud crack, and he goes stumbling backwards with a chunk of the perfectly shaped bush, leaving a hole through to the center. His jaw drops.

_This was not the plan._

He looks at the stem he’s holding, which includes four other flowers besides the one he’d actually wanted, and debates just sticking it back in and hoping nobody notices, but it was too late. The damage was done.

His second thought is to turn and book it down the sidewalk, and he does exactly that. He runs as fast as he can while still holding the prickly branch at arm’s length in front of him. Luckily, it isn’t that far, and he makes it through his front door without drawing any attention. He flings the chunk of bush on the carpeted floor of his living room, staring at it like it might grow legs and walk away.

_Step three: failure. Mission abort._

\------------------------

Later that same day, Seungsik comes out to water his plant babies in the fleeting twilight before the sun disappears. He drags the hose along, switching the nozzle to the gentle shower setting as he waves it over his pride and joy, the streetside flowers. He’d raised each one from sprouts or bulbs, giving them all their individual necessary nutrients, feeding them sometimes before he fed himself.

Needless to say, he’d notice if even a single petal was out of place. So, when he walks out to find a quarter of his pink rose bush missing, he almost laughs right there in the middle of the lawn.

When the first daffodil went missing, he’d shrugged it off as simply a fascinated school child passing by, because sometimes their curiosity got the better of them and a flower was sacrificed. The second time, a tulip ripped from the ground savagely, he began to suspect foul play. The third time confirms his suspicions that this was certainly no accident.

Even though he knows the perpetrator was long gone, he still leans over the fence to look both ways down the sidewalk. It’s empty, and he stands straight again to walk around it and onto the street to get a better look at the damage.

He cringes at the gap, reaching to run his finger over the jagged end of the stem where the piece was broken off. He tries to fluff the other flowers around it, expertly handling the spikey stems with bare hands and avoiding the barbs, but it doesn’t make much of a difference. The plant is mangled, and he has no choice but to just accept it.

It still hurts though. He grieves, gently watering the remaining roses and mumbling quiet apologies for the trauma they must have experienced. He walks over to the stem of the stolen daffodil, wilting back into the soil, and scoops soil over it to complete its life cycle. The tulip has no stem, but he still notices the empty space it left behind. A tragic loss for his photosynthesizing family.

\------------------------

To Chan’s surprise, the gardener (or the police) did not come for him that evening, or even the next day. His mission to remain inconspicuous had been ruined, but perhaps it didn’t have to be scratched completely. He spends his entire day at work wondering if it’s safe to continue or if he should just give up and forget about it. And maybe move to a new town.

He doesn’t make a decision all the way up until he’s turning down his street again. It’s raining, and he’s got his jacket zipped up to his chin and an umbrella gripped tight in both hands. The flowers wiggle in the gentle drizzle, leaves bouncing when a drop lands on them and rolls off. The rose bush looks just as he left it, and he winces at the sight.

Chan knows he should keep walking on, and he also knows that his sloppy work the day before could have easily given him away, but he can’t make himself move. The mission was halfway complete, and it would be a waste to throw it all away. Plus, he’d been planning it for months, and he couldn’t think of any better ideas.

He gives his head a gentle shake to clear it, focusing on the task at hand. His eyes catch one a patch of small, bright blue ones. The stems are thin enough, and there are no threatening thorns, so he reaches down and snags a handful of them. They come up like pieces of grass, with little resistance and a satisfying snap. He holds the prize victoriously, smooths the remaining flowers around to hide the small gap, and speed walks down the sidewalk without a second glance.

_Mission back on target. Step four: success._

\------------------------

Seungsik watches out his window as the man races away, eyes following him until he’s out of sight, stunned.

He’d been minding his own business that afternoon, just reading in a chair in his living room, when his attention was drawn to a bright yellow blob poking over his fence. A child admiring the flowers, he thinks, and looks backs at his book. When the blob doesn’t move for an entire minute, he gets curious, and cranes his neck to get a better look.

A full-grown man stands in front of his yard, clad in a yellow rain jacket, hood up, and a clear umbrella on top of it.

He resists the urge to giggle at the serious rain gear, setting his book down and getting up to walk closer to the window. He can barely see his nose from under the hood but he can tell he’s staring at the flowers intensely, more than a harmless interest in the pretty colors. He immediately remembers the missing flowers from earlier in the week, and decides to keep an eye on him.

He rests his chin on the top of the couch, looking out as the man continues to stand frozen, eyes flitting over the various plants. His fingertips poke out from his jacket sleeves wrapped tightly around the umbrella handle, even though it’s only drizzling and the wind is calm. He doesn’t look very intimidating, he thinks, or at all like a flower thief. He just looks deeply intrigued, like he’s having a sudden revelation through them.

He thinks this until the man reaches down, snatches a bunch of his bluebells, and flees. His head lurches up off the couch, awestruck. He _was_ the thief! But now he’s gone, and all he has of him is the bright yellow raincoat.

The longer he thinks about it though, he can’t find it in himself to be upset. Yes, he raised those plants like they were his own children (they were), but the mysterious man seemed to have more motive than just petty thievery.

There’s a cemetery not far down the road, and he can’t help but wonder if that was where the man was heading. Sometimes he sees people walking there with bouquets already in hand, but maybe he had forgotten, or saw the flowers and decided to bring one. He wonders who it was he had lost, and thinks about how young he looked to be facing it alone. The least he can offer him is some sympathy and a few flowers.

\------------------------

The next day, Chan’s mission is nearly complete.

On his way home, he thinks ahead to the flowers left in the garden that he hasn’t already used. There were some nice white ones with tall petals and a little yellow center, and there were also various multi-colored flowers with tons of tiny little petals that the bees liked a lot. He liked those ones too, but he had his eye on a specific one for the finishing touch.

In the corner of the yard, almost into the next one, there was a patch of strange, tall plants with lots of little flowers on them. They reminded him of corn stalks, except they were pink and purple and not yellow, and instead of corn kernels it was flowers. (They were also about a fourth of the size, but in his defense, he’s never actually seen a corn stalk in real life.)

He doesn’t have a purple flower for his masterpiece yet, so he decides the purple one is the last target. He doesn’t really know if it goes with the other ones, or if they even go with each other, but they were pretty and that was the goal.

He turns the corner and spots the funky shaped plants, flourishing after the rain the day before. He’s not totally sure if it would fit in the cup he’s using to hold the others, but he figures it’s worth a shot. He can turn his blender into a makeshift vase too, as long as he remembers not to plug it in.

He approaches, stopping in front of the yard like usual, and plans his attack.

\------------------------

Seungsik peers out his window at the man. He was ready this time, sitting by his window all afternoon to keep an eye out for him. He liked to sit there anyways to catch a glimpse of the kids walking home from school, pointing and smiling at the pretty flowers. It always gave him joy to see others look at and appreciate his garden, because that was the best part of having it. Giving a little piece of happiness to strangers, no matter what they needed it for.

This stranger, however, makes his heart ache instead. He’s back again, five days in a row, and Seungsik wonders if going to a grave so often is a bad sign. It was a good thing he had flowers to spare, but he worries for him as he watches him survey the garden.

He stops on the lilies, and Seungsik smiles weakly. A common choice for mourning, he thinks. His smile fades a little in confusion as the man suddenly moves past the lilies, and towards… the hyacinths?

Seungsik’s eyes go wide as he watches the man eye the flower, thinking about it for a second, before he goes for the base and starts yanking. He gasps, resisting the urge to open the window and shriek at him as he wrestles the entire plant out. It was painful to watch, and he threads both hands into his hair in pure stress as the bulb appears from the torn up ground.

The man seems confused by the base of the plant, and Seungsik huffs. _He could’ve at least cut it,_ he thinks, instead of ending its life and any chance of regrowth along with it. The other half of him, the angel on his opposite shoulder, says _leave him alone, he’s mourning,_ and so he clenches his jaw and watches him run off with his precious purple hyacinth.

He turns around to sit down properly on the couch, still slightly stunned. His mind wanders down the road with him, and his frustration fizzles out as pity washes over him. He was going to mourn, and who is Seungsik to cause him any extra distress? He looked close in age to him, and the mere thought of having to make that trip himself, _alone,_ makes him want to accidentally leave a pair of gardening scissors out for him tomorrow.

He glances out the window and sighs. He hopes the poor boy wasn’t going to stay for too long, because it looks like it’s going to rain soon.

\------------------------

The final day. His mission is nearly complete. Chan has done it.

He wakes up that morning jittery with nerves, his outfit planned the night before so that he doesn’t have to worry about choosing it in a rush. He gets ready quickly, but spends an extra few minutes in the mirror fluffing and fixing his hair. He’d never felt the need to style it, but he’s second guessing now.

Downstairs, the last stage of his mission begins.

The flowers sit on the counter, held together with a blue rubber band. The ones from earlier in the week are starting to wilt a little, and he’s done his best to trim the stems to similar lengths with his kitchen scissors, but he still thinks they’re the prettiest flowers he’s ever seen. All different colors and sizes and just what he had imagined.

He grins, picking them up off the counter and fiddling with the stems one last time before carefully cradling them in the crook of his arm, taking a deep breath, and heading out the door.

The rain clouds from yesterday are gone and he squints in the sun as he walks down the sidewalk. He runs over the lines he’d practiced the day before as he goes, each step taking him closer and closer to the culmination of his master plan.

When he reaches the corner of white pickets, the pretty flowers waving in the breeze in greeting, he pauses. He picks the flowers up from his arm, holding them with both hands in front of him.

 _It’s missing something,_ he thinks.

He strolls along the fence, glancing over all the flowers and looking for something special. His eyes land on a bright pink flower with little white tips on each petal, and he smiles. _Perfect._

He squats down and breaks it off in one swift motion, wiggling the stem into the rubber band so it sits right at the front of the bouquet. The finishing touch.

“If you take that many flowers in one day, I won’t have any more for you in a month.”

Chan’s head shoots up. Just beyond the other edge of the fence, one foot on the steps up to his front door, the gardener looks back at him. He scrambles up, reflexively hiding the bouquet behind his back in a panic.

“Uh…” He doesn’t know what to say, all the sentences he’d prepared had left his brain the second he locked eyes with the elusive gardener. Instead, he just stares back, like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

Suddenly, the man cracks a gentle smile, and Chan feels his heart pound even faster. He takes a step closer, scuffing the bottoms of his shoes on the ground as he swings his legs out, and Chan holds his breath, arms stiff behind his back.

“I saw you walk up, you know,” the man says, and Chan flushes. He waves a hand at his torso. “You don’t have to hide them behind your back,” he continues. “I know who you are.”

At his last words, Chan looks up again in surprise, words suddenly making sense again. “You know who I am?”

“I mean, sort of,” he answers, stopping in front of him. “I don’t know your name, but I recognize you now. You walk past here most days, and you always compliment my garden. I also know that you take flowers from it. I’m Seungsik, by the way.”

So he _had_ been caught. The little bubble of excitement in his chest from Seungsik recognizing him isn’t enough to smother the realization that his surprise had been ruined. Chan drops his head, letting his hall fall over his eyes. _How embarrassing._ “I’m Chan,” he mumbles to start with, before continuing, “I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“Don’t worry about it,” Seungsik is quick to interrupt, and Chan steals a wary glance up through his bangs. He still has that gentle smile, and Chan feels his nerves settle a little. “It’s a better use for them than me keeping them all for myself.”

At first, Chan chuckles at the reply, because he really was keeping them all for himself, but then he stops. Seungsik wasn’t supposed to know what his mission was. “…Better use?” he asks slowly. _What better use?_

“You know,” he replies, nodding his head down the street behind him like he should understand. “I’m not upset. Although-,” he looks at the ground where Chan had just ripped the last flower out, “-chrysanthemums aren’t usually for graves.”

Chan cocks his head in confusion, both at the big word he didn’t know and the rest of his sentence. “Graves?” he asks. They stare at each other for a dragged out second, and then Seungsik’s mouth drops.

“Oh my god you aren’t going to a grave are you,” he rushes out in one breath, and Chan almost doesn’t catch it, but then he realizes.

“You thought I was…,” he trails off, pulling the handful of flowers out from behind his back again and staring at them. They look different to him now, and his heart falls. “ _Oh_.”

Seungsik looks as red as a tomato. “All this time, I thought you were going to the…,” he trails off, before dropping his voice, “the cemetery,” he breathes, like saying it louder would disrupt them somehow.

“The cemetery,” Chan repeats, chewing on his bottom lip as he lets his hand fall to his side, the flowers brushing against his thigh. “I live down the street, just a few houses that way,” he tells him. “Not that far.”

He watches the realization flash across Seungsik’s face. “I’m so sorry, Chan, I didn’t know…” he says, but Chan doesn’t register the rest of his sentence because his brain loops on the way his name sounds rolling off his tongue. He wants to hear it again and again.

“….are you doing with them?”

Chan looks up. “Huh?”

Seungsik looks apologetic, like he’s offended him. “What are you doing with the flowers?” He points at the bouquet hanging limp in his hands. “Are those all the ones you picked this week? What are they for?”

Chan looks at the flowers in his hand. Even though his mission hadn’t exactly gone as he had planned, his chance is still there. All the days he had spent planning have come down to this. He sucks in a deep breath, puffing up his chest a little as he stands up straight again.

“They’re for you,” he tells him, and sticks the flowers out in between them. Seungsik stares back for a second, eyes bouncing between him and his offering.

“For me?” he finally says, and Chan nods once. With his arm out, Seungsik can see the way his hand trembles, flowers vibrating slightly where they’re suspended in the middle of them. “Why?” he says, quieter this time.

Chan’s arm is starting to hurt with how long he’s been holding them up. “Because,” he starts, determined to finish his mission strong, “You like them a lot, don’t you? I wanted to give you something you like, but the issue is there isn’t really much that I know you like.”

Seungsik chuckles at that, and Chan smiles a little. “I do like them a lot, that’s why they’re in my garden,” he answers, but his voice is light. “Why did you want to give them to me?”

“Because that’s what people do when they-,” Chan starts to say, but suddenly realizes that he isn’t emotionally ready to confess yet, and the words catch in his throat. “Uh, when they…”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, but Seungsik seems to get the message. His eyebrows arch in surprise, but his entire expression quickly melts into a smile, eyes curving with it.

“You stole flowers for me?” he asks with a little chuckle, grinning. “Out of my own garden?”

Chan eyes him, unable to tell if he’s asking seriously. When he waits for an answer, Chan pulls his shoulders up slowly, shrugging hesitantly. “Maybe?”

They’re both silent for a second, staring over the top of the bouquet Chan is still holding out. Then, Seungsik bursts out laughing, and he flinches. “You’re pretty funny, Chan,” he comments.

His next move rolls like a drama scene. Chan almost falters at his reply because it sounds like a rejection and he looks up in disbelief, but just as he does, (and he swears it happens in slow motion), Seungsik’s eyes meet his right as reaches out and takes the flowers, _finally._

His pinky finger brushes against Chan’s index as he secures his grip. “Thank you. That’s very thoughtful,” he says, but he sounds genuine and honest and it helps soothe Chan’s nerves.

He lets go as he hands it over fully, and Seungsik brings it to his nose, breathing in deeply. “It’s an interesting combination,” he tells him with a light laugh. “I like it though. Very creative.”

Chan nods, letting himself giggle a little too. He knows he can’t hide that he has absolutely zero bouquet-making knowledge, but at least Seungsik is nice about it. “I’m glad you like it,” he says, relieved. He feels more at ease, laughing together, and he thinks, maybe, his mission might be a success.

“Do you want to come inside?” Seungsik offers, taking a step back to gesture towards his front door. “Do you like tea? Or something else?”

Oh. Chan was not ready to move that fast. “Um, I’m-,” he stutters out, face going red again. “I’m okay, I think. I actually have to… go.”

Seungsik’s face falls. “Are you sure? It’s nothing, really,” he assures him. “It would be nice to get to know you more.”

He does have a point, and it does sound really, _really,_ nice, but he’s certain his heart would beat out of his chest if he took one step into his house. Today, at least. He’s more than willing to try again a little later.

“Maybe we could get coffee this weekend?” Chan offers instead of turning him down. “Or tea?” he corrects, remembering his previous suggestion.

Seungsik smiles. “I’d like that, yeah. I’m trying to break my coffee addiction, so tea for me.”

Chan nods with a chuckle, shifting his weight from foot to foot. _How do you ask for his-_

“Do you wanna exchange numbers?” Seungsik continues, and Chan almost sighs in relief.

“Yes, definitely,” he answers immediately, pulling out his phone just as fast and holding it out to him.

Seungsik chuckles, but takes it and puts his contact in. He calls himself quickly before handing it back. “This weekend?” he confirms, bending his neck a little to catch Chan’s eye.

He looks up from where he’s been staring at the contact saved to his phone. _Seungsikie^^,_ it reads. His throat goes dry, and he clears it awkwardly before answering. “Yeah, Saturday. Maybe 11?”

“Great,” Seungsik replies, and Chan swears he almost looks proud, but it’s gone after he blinks.

He makes the first move to go, taking a half step back with a little wave. “Okay, I’ll text you? A place. To meet.”

Seungsik grins at the question in his tone, but nods along. “I’ll be waiting. Bye, Chan,” he says, waving back. “See you.”

They hold eyes for a second more before Chan turns, walking down the sidewalk. His heart is all fluttery and he feels warm and happy and _victorious._ He’s done it, his mission was a success.

Against his better judgement, he steals a glance over his shoulder, hoping to catch his back disappearing through his door. Instead, he finds Seungsik right where he’d left him, smiling back happily. He almost chokes on his own spit, whipping around at break-neck speed as the butterflies in his stomach explode all over again.

Willing his heart to stop trying to burst out of his chest, he wonders to himself how he’ll ever manage a coffee date when he can barely look at the guy without losing his breath.

He’s going to try, though. He’s sure of that.

\------------------------

The next day, Chan walks home as usual. Or, his path is like usual, but it feels much different.

He doesn’t have to plot anymore, because he’s done it. He talked to him, he got his number and a cute little contact to go with it. Instead of picking a flower, he gets to pick a coffee shop to meet him at. He’ll worry about what to say at the coffee shop when the time comes, but for now, he revels in the fact that _he did that._

Mindlessly wondering what sort of cute symbol Seungsik might have saved with his own name in his phone, Chan turns the corner to walk down his street. Suddenly, his eyes land on something a few houses ahead, and he stops in his tracks.

Seungsik is sitting on his front step, phone in his hands. He hasn’t seen him yet, and Chan almost debates turning around and trying again later because he really needs more than two minutes to mentally prepare himself to not crumble at his first words, but he forces his feet to stay. He could do it, he was just his neighbor. His very endearing, heart-melting neighbor with the prettiest eye smile he’s ever seen. That was all.

He keeps his eyes down and pretends he hasn’t seen him as he starts walking again, fiddling with the insides of his coat pockets and trying to control his heart rate. It’s no use, though, because as soon as Seungsik spots him and calls out his name, he loses any progress he’s made. _He was waiting for him?_

Chan watches him stand up from the porch and walk down to the sidewalk as he approaches, wearing the same familiar smile that gives his stomach butterflies and still soothes his nerves a little.

He doesn’t see the flowers in his other hand until he’s almost in front of him and Seungsik is suddenly holding them out. He can’t believe his eyes.

“Deja vu?” Seungsik giggles at his expression, and Chan can only nod dumbly, staring at the bouquet. This was a _real_ bouquet, Chan can tell, because the flowers all go together and the stems are smooth across the bottom and honestly, he doesn’t know exactly what makes it so good but he can just tell that it is. It’s even got pretty green paper behind it, and it’s secured with some twine tied in a little bow and it looks too pretty for him to accept.

“What are you…” he tries to ask, but he still can’t form a proper sentence. “What is that?”

Seungsik squints a little at his question, but he’s still grinning. He holds it up proudly. “They’re for you. From my garden.”

He points to each flower in the bouquet and tells him their names and which are his favorites and which smell the best and Chan listens, he does, but he mostly just stares at Seungsik and tries to wrap his head around the fact that _he made him a bouquet._

In his awe, he forgets to respond when Seungsik finishes talking. “Is everything okay?” he asks, dragging Chan back to reality.

He nods aggressively. “Yes, yeah, it’s great,” he rushes, and Seungsik smiles. “I just… can’t believe you’re giving me this.”

“Well, you always compliment them, so you must like them too, right?” Seungsik says, and Chan breaks into a smile at his reasoning.

“Yes, you’re right,” he agrees. “I do like them a lot.”

“I wanted to get you something you like, but unfortunately I don’t know you very well,” Seungsik mirrors their interaction yesterday, but this time, with a little smile, adds, “Yet.”

Oh. _Oh._

Chan can’t help the blush that spreads across his cheeks and he wants to hide his face, but Seungsik’s smile just grows at his reaction.

“Yet,” Chan squeaks, because that’s all he can manage to get out, and gives a little nod of approval. Yet was temporary, he thinks. Yet can be changed, yet is hopeful. Seungsik is _hopeful_.

Then, Seungsik gives the flowers a little shake and he realizes that he hasn’t accepted them yet. He rushes to, taking it gently and tucking it into his elbow to shield it. It looks even prettier up close, and he can smell the sweet scent that reminds him of the garden, and of Seungsik.

“Thank you, they’re perfect,” he finally manages to say, and Seungsik waves off his flattery.

“Since all those flowers you stole weren’t even for you, I figured I could spare a few more,” he giggles, and Chan ducks his head, laughing along. “Plus, it was fun to practice my bouquet making skills, but no more! Or there won’t be any to look at in a few weeks,” he scolds him playfully.

“No more, I promise,” Chan says, holding his free hand up in surrender. He wouldn’t dream of stealing any for himself, but being given them feels way more intimate than he’d felt giving them.

He smiles at the flowers, holding them like a newborn in his arms, and he feels Seungsik’s eyes on him. His heart is warm from the attention and all those _feelings_ that Seungsik gives him, and he knows he isn’t hiding it very well, but he doesn’t care much anymore.

“Okay, well, I just wanted to give you those,” Seungsik says, clasping his hands together in front of him. “I’ll still see you tomorrow?”

Chan nods, sad to say goodbye. “Yeah, tomorrow. I’m excited,” he says shyly, finally looking up to meet his eyes again.

“Me too,” Seungsik agrees, flashing him the same, crescent-eyed smile that had caught Chan’s attention that very first day and made his insides feel all fluffy. Since then, he'd dreamt about getting to see it every day.

And now, maybe, _just maybe,_ he would.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!! and thank you to the prompter for your idea, i hope you enjoyed it :D  
> kudos and comments are always appreciated<3


End file.
